Even the Possibility
by Dmarx
Summary: It's been years since she's given any degree of consideration to miracles or magic but here, in Richard Castle's office, surrounded by the words that saved her, she's beginning to believe that maybe – just maybe – it's not outside the realm of possibility. Pre-series meeting. A Thanksgiving one shot.


_Inspired by the holiday and one of my favorite quotes. This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for the never-ending love and support I've received from this fandom over the past 7 years. This one is for all of you!_

* * *

 **Even the Possibility**

 _"_ _If you don't believe in even the possibility of magic, you'll never ever find it"  
– Richard Castle_

* * *

The sun is low on the horizon by the time she sinks onto the park bench, rays of light streaking the city in between the long shadows cast by the sea of high rises. The last few flakes of snow drift down from the sky overhead, the lingering edge of the storm still blanketing Manhattan as the clouds continue on their eastward path, making way for the setting sun.

Kate feels a flake catch in her eyelashes, blinks it away. Another flake lands on her neck, a cool pinprick of sensation, and she reaches for her hair, loosens it from the tight bun she twists it into each morning before work. She'd rather be at work right now, too, but she has to admit the city is beautiful with a light dusting of white softening the hard surfaces and muting the cacophonous sounds.

She loves this city, though she's loved it slightly less the last few years now that she's seen what it can do, how it can end a life and tear a family apart in the blink of an eye. And how nothing she does ever seems to be enough to reassemble the shattered pieces.

Kate swipes at an escaped tear, blinks rapidly before the others have a chance to fall. She's not going to cry any more today.

"Mind if I sit?"

She startles, head jerking up in surprise, and she opens her mouth, ready with an automatic reply. She doesn't want company. Especially not today. But before the syllable can escape, her eyes find the source of the voice and the words die on her lips.

She knows that face, those bright blue eyes. She's seen them on the back of multiple book jackets, including the one that currently sits on her bedside table.

"I, uh, sure," she stammers. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," he replies with a smile, but she can tell it's forced. She may not be a detective yet but she's been working on reading people, their eyes and body language and everything else that can't be learned through words alone. His eyes spell sadness and the lines painting his forehead suggest fatigue.

"No turkey and pumpkin pie?" he ventures after a moment of silence.

Kate shrugs. "I don't really celebrate."

"Are you Canadian?" he inquires.

"No."

"Don't like turkey?"

She shrugs, doesn't turn to face him despite his insistent gaze. "Turkey is fine."

"So what then?" he presses.

"Nothing, really," she replies, hoping to bring this exchange to a quick end. Company, she can tolerate. Conversation, she doesn't want.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he offers.

Good grief, she thinks as she suppresses an annoyed eye roll. Apparently his penchant for words doesn't just apply to books. Apparently it spills over into real life as well. And apparently he never stops talking.

"I really don't want to talk about it," Kate replies after a long moment.

"Okay," he concedes, averting his gaze and shoving his hands into his coat pockets as a cold breeze whips around them, kicking up a pile of dead leaves and sending them rustling along the pathway.

He lets out a sad sigh, turns to face her again. Kate keeps her gaze trained forward, staring absently across the park. Pigeons meander through the thin layer of snow covering the dying grass and crunchy foliage in search of food. A squirrel dashes up a tree, out of reach of a dog and its owner as they stroll along the sidewalk. There aren't many people out and about right now, an unusual sight in this city. Then again, most of Manhattan is currently sitting down to dinner with friends, family, and loved ones.

It reminds her once again of the many holiday experiences she'll no longer have.

"My daughter is in California," her companion offers after an extended silence, tearing her from her thoughts. "Celebrating with her mom this year. It's the first time she hasn't been here for Thanksgiving."

"I didn't know you had a daughter," Kate blurts.

"Seeing as we just met, I wouldn't expect you to," he replies, and heat flames her cheeks as she realizes what she's just essentially admitted. "Unless…" he pauses, eyes roaming her face, "you knew who I was before I sat down."

"I might have recognized you," she hedges, not quite meeting his gaze.

"A fan, huh?" he asks, an amused twinkle igniting in his eyes.

"I said I recognized you, not that I'm a fan."

"I'm not a movie star," he counters. "Most people don't recognize me unless they've actually read my books."

She shrugs. "Maybe I'm not most people."

"Of that, I'm quite sure."

Kate rolls her eyes.

"So you know who I am. I think it's only fair that I get to learn about you," he proposes.

"I'm Kate," she offers stiffly.

"And?" he presses.

"And my life really isn't that interesting."

"Somehow I doubt that."

She shrugs. "That's your call."

"So, Kate," Rick asks cheerily, seemingly oblivious to her multiple attempts to dismiss this conversation. "No plans for this evening, then?"

"No."

"You know," he begins, and she can already tell from the eager look in his eyes that she's probably not going to like whatever he's about to say. "I make the best hot chocolate in the world."

She was right. She already doesn't like where this is going.

"Do you now?" she deadpans.

"My daughter says so."

"Not exactly an unbiased opinion."

"Well then why don't I make you some and you can provide a second opinion?"

"Really?" she drawls with a raised eyebrow. "That's your line?"

"That… I… it wasn't," he stammers. "I really was just inviting you over for my world-famous hot chocolate."

"I just met you."

"Yes, but you already knew who I was."

"Fine, then you just met me," she tries a second time. "And now you're inviting me into your home."

He shrugs, apparently unaffected. "Novelist," he says by way of explanation, indicating himself with one hand. "Being able to read people is a job requirement."

"Cop," she shoots back. "Also a job requirement."

"You're a cop?" Castle enthuses, eyes going wide.

"Thought you'd have already figured that out, what with your excellent people reading skills," Kate quips.

"That is so cool," he barrels on, completely ignoring her snarky remarks.

She rolls her eyes.

"Alright, I'm amending my offer." Kate raises a wary eyebrow as he continues. "Come have some hot chocolate and let me ask you some questions for my next novel."

"That sounds even less appealing."

"Ah, so you admit that my initial offer appealed to you."

Kate rolls her eyes again. How he gleaned that from this conversation, she'll never know.

"Please," he says, going for earnest this time, and damn it if his blue eyes so full of excitement and hope don't barrel right through all of her defenses. Oddly, she finds herself believing him. He's not trying to hook up with her; he seems sincere in his offer and genuine in his enthusiasm and intrigue.

"Fine," she relents.

It's not like she has any other plans for the evening, and as much as she'd rather go home alone and pretend this holiday doesn't suck as much as all the others have for the past almost five years, chatting with Rick seems to be taking her mind off of everything else, at least for the time being.

"Yessss," he enthuses, rising from the bench and readjusting his scarf. "I promise. You're gonna love it."

Kate huffs a sigh as she rises and falls into step next to him.

She's not entirely convinced.

* * *

Richard Castle's loft is impressive. Open, spacious, and much homier than she would've expected for such an ostentatious playboy bachelor. The signs of his daughter's presence are clear in the drawings adorning the refrigerator, the stack of art supplies on an end table, and the laser tag gear tucked beneath the coffee table, but the rest of the loft is decorated very tastefully.

"I can take your jacket," Rick offers, stepping out of the coat closet with a hanger in one hand.

Kate slips out of her brown pea coat, passes it to him as she finishes her assessment of his home.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says with a sweeping gesture of his hand as he pushes the closet door closed with the other. He crosses to the kitchen and Kate follows hesitantly, sinking onto a bar stool.

"Want some help?"

"Trying to steal my secret recipe from me already?" he teases as he goes about gathering ingredients and utensils.

"You never said it was secret," she shoots back.

"If I share it, how else will I ever convince you to come over again?"

Kate doesn't reply, completely taken aback by his words.

Rick pauses as well, sets a pile of ingredients aside and turns to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… there's no obligation," he stammers. "You have a life of your own."

"It's fine," she assures him over the pounding of her heart, despite the nagging feeling that it's not fine. She's known him for less than an hour and already she's sitting in his kitchen partaking in back-and-forth banter that definitely hints at underlying chemistry. She hadn't even initially wanted company tonight; she definitely doesn't want anything more.

Rick offers a small smile. She returns it with one of her own and that seems to re-break the ice. He turns back to the stove, fills a saucepan with milk and leaves it to simmer while he begins preparing the rest of his concoction.

Kate sits in silence while he works, wills her brain not to overthink her current situation. This isn't the kind of thing she would normally do, and she's not entirely sure how she allowed herself to be convinced so easily. In fact, she's about to politely excuse herself when Rick presents her with a steaming mug of dark cocoa topped with marshmallows, a generous dollop of whipped cream, and a single Hershey's Kiss.

"Here you are," he announces with a smile.

Well then. Apparently she's staying and drinking hot chocolate with Richard Castle.

Rick sinks into the bar stool opposite her, raises his mug across the counter in her direction. "To fateful meetings on random park benches."

Kate tries not to read into his word choice _–_ or the Hershey's Kiss _–_ as she echoes his motion, clinking her mug against his. "Cheers."

He lifts the mug to his lips, takes a long sip, and Kate does the same. The dark liquid blends smoothly with the marshmallows and whipped cream and hints of a flavor she can't quite identify. Rick is watching her in anticipation as she swallows, feeling the velvety warmth spread through her chest.

"This is really good," she concedes as she savors the rich, chocolatey taste that still coats her tongue. "Thank you."

"Told you," he says with a smug smile. "My daughter never lies."

"I'm sorry you couldn't be celebrating with her," Kate offers, cradling the warm ceramic in both hands.

"Me too," he murmurs. "But I'm glad I met you."

She dips her chin, allowing the curtain of her hair to shield her face and hoping it will hide the blush she knows is painting her cheeks.

"How old is she?" Kate asks after an extended silence.

"Ten going on thirty," he answers with a chuckle. "I have no idea where the maturity gene came from."

Rick extracts his wallet, pulls out a photo of a young girl with his bright blue eyes and long red hair and extends it in her direction.

"She's adorable," Kate murmurs, taking the photo from him.

"Mmm, and smart, too."

She hands the photo back, finds herself smiling. She met Rick about a year ago at a book signing but aside from that brief encounter, all she's ever known about him is what she's seen in the paper and the tabloids. She knows he's been married and divorced, knows he's been linked to numerous women and been arrested at least twice over the past few years.

But this side of him – the one that proudly brags about his daughter and invites her into his home on Thanksgiving and makes her hot chocolate and takes a genuine interest in her life – this is different. Unexpected. It makes her question what she thought she knew about her favorite author.

It makes her feel comfortable. Makes her want to admit things she's only ever shared with a select group of people.

"My mom was murdered," Kate murmurs into the silence, still not completely sure why she's decided to allow him this glimpse into her life. "Almost five years ago."

Rick freezes with his cocoa halfway to his lips, eyes wide.

"They never figured out who did it."

"That's why you became a cop," he guesses, placing the mug back on the counter.

She nods before dipping her chin, eyes falling closed. "My dad drinks. It's how he copes." Kate traces her finger around the rim of her mug, pauses for a long moment. Rick waits her out calmly, sitting in silence but his eyes never leaving her. "I went over today after my shift ended but he was already drinking scotch straight from the bottle. We fought. Again."

Rick nods in quiet understanding.

"I keep hoping he'll get sober but…" she trails off. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he assures her. "It's human."

"Well it's starting to feel stupid," Kate confesses. "It's been almost five years and nothing I say or do makes any difference."

"It'll happen," Rick promises. "You just have to believe."

She scoffs. "In what?"

He shrugs. "Magic. Fate. Miracles. Whatever works for you."

"Mmm," she replies noncommittally. She doesn't really believe in much of anything anymore.

He reaches across the bar, rests a gentle hand over hers, and she lifts her chin to find him gazing at her, blue eyes shining with sincerity. "It'll happen," he reiterates. "And when it does, he'll be grateful to have you there supporting him."

Kate knows all about platitudes and empty promises. She's heard enough of them to last a lifetime. But Rick's words aren't empty. She can see the determination in his eyes and the certainty in the lines of his face. How he can carry such a firm belief in someone he's never met, she doesn't know, but she wishes she could possess even an ounce of his optimism.

She raises the mug to her lips, downs the last of the dark, rich beverage. "Thanks for the cocoa."

"Want some more?" he offers, going along with her change of subject.

"Oh no, thank you." She slides her hand out from beneath his, rises from the bar stool. "I should go."

"Or you could stay," he suggests, standing as well. "I have two guest rooms."

She opens her mouth to reply – not that she has any idea how to respond to his offer – when the ringing of her phone cuts through the air.

"Sorry, it's probably work," she says apologetically.

"No problem," Rick replies with an easy shrug, transferring their mugs to the sink as Kate extracts the device from her pocket, flips it open and raises it to her ear.

"Beckett," she answers in her usual clipped tone.

"Katie."

"Dad?"

She notices Rick's eyes widen. He rounds the bar, catches her with a gentle hand spanning her lower back and guides her across his living room into a dimly lit room with a large mahogany desk and bookshelf walls.

"Take your time," he murmurs, and she nods appreciatively.

"I'm sorry," the voice in her ear says.

Kate feels her eyes go wide. "What?"

"I'm sorry," her dad repeats. "I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with you. I wanted to be sober."

"You… you did?" she stammers. He's never spoken those words before, never apologized.

"I called my sponsor after you left."

"You have a sponsor?" Kate asks. But that means…

"I went to an AA meeting on Tuesday."

"You did?"

"I just went to another one."

She opens her mouth to reply, can't find the words.

"I don't want to keep doing this," he admits. "I don't want to keep hurting you."

"Dad," is all she can manage, the syllable choked and broken.

It's irrational and she knows it can't possibly be this easy, but Kate feels the first semblance of hope bloom in her chest, warm and buoyant.

"My sponsor told me you might not believe me," her father continues.

"I… I want to," she replies, finds that she truly means it.

"Good," he responds. "Because I'm really trying."

She's not sure if it's because she's been staring at the large painting of a never-ending staircase that hangs behind Rick's desk or from this entire surrealistic evening, but Kate finds herself feeling dizzy, has to sink into one of the overstuffed chairs.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" her father asks when she doesn't reply.

"I'll come by after work," she assures him.

"I'll see you then, Katie."

"Bye, Dad."

The device falls to her lap and she lifts both hands, covers her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut as a sob tumbles free. She doesn't want to raise her hopes only to have them come crashing down again. She's not sure she can handle another fall. But meeting Rick has been an unexpected reminder that a world exists outside of her carefully constructed walls, a world where people are good and kind and hopeful, and it's ignited within her an unusual sliver of optimism.

It's been years since she's given any degree of consideration to miracles or magic or anything of the sort but here, in Richard Castle's office, surrounded by the words that saved her and with the words of her father's promise ringing in her ears, she's beginning to believe that maybe – just maybe – it's not outside the realm of possibility.

* * *

 **END**

* * *

 _Thoughts?_


End file.
